What a beautiful hamper.
It's been left on my desk -- a wicker basket wrapped up in cheerful cellophane bursting with products designed to make me happy.
That is what greeted me as I came into work on a particularly gruelling Monday. I'd just been on the phone shouting at someone ineffectual when it hit me, sitting like a happy beacon on my desk.
"It's from Khun Hataikarn," said my accountant, following me into my office with a few of my other Thai staff like moths to a flame. "A messenger brought it in early this morning."
This is one of the joys of living in Thailand at this time of the year. It's Hamper Season, the second major sign after Christmas trees that the year is almost over.
My local supermarket has devoted an entire wall to ready-made hampers ranging from 900 baht up to 5,000 baht.
If you are a non-Thai reading this column, it is worth knowing that starting from tomorrow until the first week of 2020, you are in Hamper Season and yes, avoid those 900 baht ones if you want to maintain cordial relations with your customers.
December is the time to pay courtesy calls. That means travelling around presenting hampers to those people who have been nice to you all year.
Like the one on my desk last Monday.
We stared at it with lots of oohs and ahhs. We looked at each other then peered outside my office. The messenger was gone. And that's when we fell upon the hamper like vampires to a virgin.
You have to make sure the giver is gone because receiving a hamper is like receiving a gift of any kind in this country.
We expats make terrible fools of ourselves because of this. In Thailand, it is customary upon receiving a gift to smile like the Joker before thanking the giver in a way not dissimilar to a slave thanking a king for sparing his life in a Hollywood epic set in Egypt.
You then set the gift aside. You never, ever do what we do in the West, that is, tear the pretty coloured wrapping paper to shreds in an effort to see what's inside.
Have you ever seen a wrapped gift in Thailand? They are exquisite. Like so many things in Thailand the presentation is way more important than what is inside. Hence the furtive glances between my staff and me. The messenger had gone. The coast was clear.
"Look at all the lovely things!" said the accountant.
"There's orange juice --" said the sales manager.
"-- and jam --" said the graphic designer.
"-- crackers --"
"-- instant coffee --"
"-- Spam --"
"-- and even some bird's nest soup. Wow!"
Such are the myriad, eclectic contents of these hampers. It is also an interesting glimpse into what Thais consider to be festive ingredients.
Take instant coffee for instance. It is a staple of any hamper to possess Moccona instant coffee. No, not Nescafe, and only the Moccona in a bottle, not the sachets. I am not privy to the market share of leading instant coffee brands, but Nescafe surely is winning, yet this does not translate into a desirable addition to any festive hamper. That's Moccona's role.
The weirdest ingredient is Spam. How on earth did Spam manage to worm its way into the front line of festive hamper additions? Hardly a staple of the Thai culinary experience.
I equate Spam with specific times in my life -- my second year at university, for example, when I lost my part-time job at Bonanza Steakhouse. Or the week after I bought my first house and realised my bank account was at zero until the end of the month, two weeks away.
Nevertheless, there it is -- Spam in the hamper. It sits there in its tin can masquerading as a delicacy right next to the four little bottles of bird's nest soup -- another addition to the hamper that excites my Thai staff but renders me disoriented.
I've never been an aficionado of bird's nest soup but it's so popular here. It's the gift of choice for visiting people in hospital. Forget flowers or gossip magazines -- an entire basket of bird's nest soup is what motivates the sickest of patients to recovery.
I don't quite understand how drinking hardened swiftlet saliva dissolved in gelatin makes me strong, smart and healthy as the TV ads claim. I drink globules of bird spit with the same anticipation as, say, eating a Spam sandwich but I am in the minority -- everybody loves bird's nest soup in this part of the world.
There is one notable absence from festive hampers.
When I look at them lined up at my supermarket, there is a twinge of sadness in my heart not unlike remembering a friend lost to tragic and unjust circumstances.
You see hampers are a ghost of their former selves. There was a time when any hamper worth its salt had, as its jewel in the crown, a bottle of Johnny Walker or Chivas Regal. Even the cheapest ones had a bottle of vinegar passing itself off as Chilean wine.
That was before the killjoys got voted in. An insidious campaign was soon mounted throughout the country via freeway billboards showing a bottle of whiskey with a bow tied around it. Stamped on top of that was one of those red circles with the slash through the middle.
"Giving alcohol is the same as cursing the recipient!" read the catchphrase below the picture.
Says who? Talk about fake news! And yet the campaign worked. Alcohol was replaced with Spam and instant coffee … chalk one victory up for the wowsers.
This philosophy has seeped beyond hampers into Thai society. I recently asked for a bottle of vodka as payment for a very large proofreading job. I was actually being very generous.
The recipient was a former student who I knew didn't have a lot of money. He'd just graduated with a Master's. Paying for someone to proof his work would have cost tens of thousands of baht, and I didn't want to take money from my student so I said: "Just buy me a bottle of vodka."
When the work was finished this student came to visit me in my office. To be honest I'd forgotten my terms of payment. The student himself reminded me of our deal, which momentarily lifted my spirits knowing 750ml of Absolut was coming my way.
Don't count your chickens.
"I told my father I was going to see you today to say thank you and give you a bottle of vodka, but he forbade me to do that," he said with a big smile.
Your father? How did he suddenly come into our agreement? I didn't know he even had a father.
"He said I couldn't give you alcohol. I couldn't curse you. That would be wrong. He said I should take you to dinner instead. So let's go!"
I wonder if the student noticed the lightning flash of disappointment that crossed my face before I could reign in my emotions. Or the thoughtwave regarding his father's capacity for tending to his own affairs before wedging his nose into the arrangement of others.
Worse, I already had a booking that night.
I didn't care. Give me anything, dear reader -- Spam, instant coffee, bird's nest soup, or simply a visit to my office. I'm absolutely grateful for them all. It means you're thinking of me, and isn't that great? It sure beats the alternative.